Today's Moment from Academia

When I started the new job, a memo went around the department asking that everyone limit their color printing. Apparently, color cartridges are hard to get, the department doesn't have a secretary at the moment, and when we run out of color ink, no one knows how to obtain more. Silly me, I hoped that meant black and white printing would be ok. In general, everyone has their own printer (so frequently, two printers of different types per office), and I was given one upon arrival. After printing 4 pages or so, I ran out of toner and found that the printer was of such ancient vintage that cartridges are no longer made for it. None of the supply closets in the division had any spares lurking in dark corners (although it was amusing to see no less than 10 different types of toner cartridge in the division), so I have been printing to the department printer.

Today I walked in to find that a document I printed on Friday was resting next to the printer with a rather vehement note on it:

"To Whom it May Concern: Please don't use the color printer for black and white printing. Use your own office printer."

There was lots of double and triple underlining. I guess that means I shouldn't use the color printer AT ALL.

I was given the lowdown by my boss that the department head is very sensitive about the proper use of the color printer, and has been known to have 20 minute meetings to explain it to people. She suggested I lay low and print somewhere else, so as not to draw attention to myself.

I am coming to understand how academics get involved in incredibly trivial but bitter fights, because I am really tempted to print 1000 pages filled with my repentance, "I will not print black and white documents to the color printer." If I had tenure, I wouldn't bother to resist the temptation, and some crazy story would probably wind up in the newspaper: Faculty Fracas Fomented by Falls.

What am I Feeling?

I need a word for that feeling you get when you've just held a smiling baby, you hand her off to someone else, and yet the part of your body against which she was resting remains warm, then gradually becomes colder than the rest of you. It's not quite horror, because you know whatever it is, she's done it before, and you can take it. Is it hope, because there is the possibility that the sensation is imaginary? Or maybe hope because maybe this time your clothes aren't stained with unfortunate baby byproducts*. Anticipation, because you won't know until you look down (or take a deep breath)?

Somehow, those options seem too positive. What would describe this peculiar feeling?

*Photo of baby byproducts withheld.